“I was going to! But my grandmother insisted on sending a formal invitation. She says it’s more… traditional.”
I run a hand through my hair.
“What kind of trials are we talking about? Fighting a Highland bear with my bare hands? Reciting the entire McGregor clan history from the beginning of time?”
Keira laughs, and despite my irritation, I have to admit it’s a rather pleasant sound.
“Honestly? I have no idea. I swear Maggie invents half of these traditions as she goes. But if it reassures you, Callum had to go through them before marrying Jane.”
“And he survived?”
“More or less. He still has nightmares involving haggis and bagpipes.”
Wonderful. Exactly what I needed to hear.
“You’ll be there at least?” I ask, hating the note of hope in my voice.
“Of course. Someone has to document your humiliation for posterity,” she replies, teasing. “But don’t worry—there are no more bears in the Highlands.”
“Very reassuring,” I mutter.
Saturday arrives far too quicklyfor my liking.
I find myself standing in front of the imposing doors of McGregor Castle, dressed in my ceremonial kilt in my clan’s colors—a decision I may soon regret, but it seemed important to assert my identity before being subjected to Maggie’s whims.
Jamison, the butler with the perpetually disapproving expression, greets me with icy politeness.
“Mr. McKenzie,” he says with a slight bow. “You are expected in the drawing room.”
He leads me through corridors I’m beginning to recognize after my nighttime infiltration with Keira. This time, however, I don’t have the advantage of darkness to conceal my presence.
Every McGregor portrait on the walls seems to follow me with its gaze, judging the audacity of a McKenzie daring to walk their sacred halls.
Jamison opens the drawing room doors and announces my arrival as though I were a foreign dignitary—which, in a sense, I am.
“Mr. Alistair McKenzie,” he declares solemnly.
I step into the room and discover a larger reception committee than expected. Besides Maggie, seated like a queen on her throne, there is Keira, of course, but also Callum, Isobel, Jane, and Lachlan.
“You’re punctual,” Maggie remarks instead of a greeting. “That’s a good start.”
“I wouldn’t dare offend a McGregor on her own territory,” I reply with what I hope is a charming smile.
Keira approaches, and I’m struck by the effortless elegance of her midnight-blue dress, the way it highlights her curves. She gives me a look that is both amused and sympathetic.
“Ready for the big test?” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my cheek to maintain our cover.
“As ready as one can be for a slaughter.”
Lachlan chooses that moment to step forward, studying me from head to toe like a scientist examining a particularly curious specimen.
“So it’s true—you’re the McKenzie our favorite stubborn mule decided to bring home?” he says, his Scottish accent even thicker than Callum’s.
Keira rolls her eyes.
“Alistair, you’ve met my cousin Lachlan. Ignore him—that’s what we’ve all been doing for thirty years.”
“Shut it, dried squid head,” Lachlan shoots back without any real bite before extending his hand. “Nice to finally meet the man brave—or crazy—enough to want to marry this walking disaster. Sorry I wasn’t very responsive at dinner last time—I was… distracted.”
